


Interpretations

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [17]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst, Drama, Epilogue, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Love at First Sight, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 15,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate versions of Adelaide Hawke and Sebastian Vael, either scenes that never quite fit into the <i>Sweetest of All Sounds</i> continuity, or responses to AU prompts and questions.  They are primarily fluff, but I'll update the tags (and add any necessary warnings) when needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous prompt on tumblr requested a Modern AU proposal.
> 
> Which sort of overflowed all over the place and turned into _sap_.
> 
> (There is also a passing reference to _The Song of Solomon_ , as apparently, to me, they're still a bit fond of scripture, no matter the universe.)

He wanted it to be perfect.

Of course, this was a common trouble, he wanted everything to be perfect for her, all the time: the weather, her commute, the music from the local bands on the Terrace when they went out for drinks, even those horrendously greasy little almost-taquitos from her favorite questionable food cart.

(He wasn't quite sure what perfect  _meant,_ in that particular case, but her continued lack of food-poisoning seemed to be good enough.)

Then again, when life singularly failed to be perfect, when the music was bad, or the shell of her food cracked and filling dripped down her shirt, or she’d suddenly realized how thoroughly she’d put her foot in her mouth with that last wretched pun at an office party, there would be one instant where she was painfully affronted, worse than a cat you’d just sprayed with water, eyes open too wide and head pulled back. But then she'd _laugh,_ insisting on more wine, or flicking an onion off her sleeve towards his face, or promising to try and keep her mouth shut next time, _not that she ever managed that last one_ , and there was nothing in all the world better than her laugh.

She’d forced him to broaden his definition of perfect, no longer confined to the sterile precision of his mother’s house when he was a child, or a checklist of requirements when he worked, but wide enough to include the flush of his skin when he blushed, because her fingers were always cool enough to soothe it, or the perils of living in a converted bungalow with ancient radiators, because she always curled herself into his lap when they watched a movie together.

It had required no adjustment to his definition at all to realize she was perfect.

He could so clearly see the expression that would cross her face if he said as much, the lift of her eyebrow and the disbelieving shake of her head, could hear the probable snide question regarding the state of his health, even as she smiled, just a little, and shrugged her shoulders in a mix of delight and embarrassment.

She never could see herself the way he did; which was probably just as well, or she’d never step away from the mirror in the morning, just as he could never keep his eyes from her as she walked by, or resist settling his hand along her hip when she stood beside him, or leaning his cheek against the warm dark fall of her hair when she was close.

They could talk about anything, usually, yet he'd never found a way to tell her how completely she held his heart.  Now, if ever, was the time to find the words.

He didn't think he'd manage it.

It was certainly more than worth the effort to try.

A shift in the light made him realize he'd been sitting in his office twisting the ring box between his fingers for far too long, and Sebastian reached for the drawer handle to put it away even as he looked up to greet whoever it was at the door... and paused, half stretched out, as Adelaide tilted her head, gaze quite clearly aimed at the object he still held in his hand.

_Oh._

_What a day for her to be early._

There went all his plans for dinner.

"What is ... that?"  Her eyebrow went up, and she rocked up onto the balls of her feet, still hovering right in the doorway.

He shook his head, feeling his mouth twist, just a little, rueful and amused, he thought, the beat of his heart suddenly heavy enough it was hard to tell _what_ he was feeling.  He stood up slowly, letting his fingers curl around the box resting in his palm.  "As there is, as far as I know, nothing else in the world that looks quite like a jewelry gift box, I feel you're really asking,  _what's in that,_ aren't you?"

She bit her bottom lip, the slightest tuck beneath her teeth.  "Maybe?" She looked up at him through her lashes, her shoulders shifting with an almost shrug that made his stomach twist and his chest ache with anticipation.

His mouth eased into a smile,  _how did I get so lucky,_ and he tilted his head, aiming one quick glance at the chair on the other side of his desk.

Adelaide flashed a grin, though it disappeared unusually quickly, and he stepped around his desk, nudging the door closed with his foot until he heard the latch click.

He turned, and paused, and breathed.  She looked so lovely, even on a cheap molded plastic chair in his cluttered office.  She always looked comfortable, no matter where they went; perfectly poised even when the TV crews had shown up at the memorial for his family and flashed their lights at everyone.

She claimed it was because of the piano lessons that started when she was four;  _never got very good at playing, but they do make you sit up straight._  He thought it was just her, though, the way she always looked through any situation, no matter how awkward, how unusual, and saw the other people trapped in it as just that: people.

The way she always just saw _Sebastian_ , like no one else he'd ever known, rather than his family name or his job.

She let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a squeak when he knelt at her feet, and the way she almost smiled, almost trembled, her eyes shining with something that looked like hope, made his heart lift up into his throat.  Joyously, certainly, but it didn't help his nerves in the slightest.

He wrapped his free hand gently around her wrist, turning her hand over and placing the box into the middle of her palm.  "Would you like to take a look?"

"It's leather," she said, her thumb curling up and slowly stroking the lid.  "I've never seen one that wasn't that black fuzzy stuff before."

He let out a breath, almost a laugh, watching the shift of her hand.  "It's a rather old box."

Her thumb stilled.  He could hear her breathe, could almost hear his own heartbeat,  _still too fast,_ in the stillness.  She moved again, her nail pressing against the small brass hook that formed the top of the clasp.  "And what about what's inside?"

He lifted his gaze from her hand, looked into her eyes, warm and brown.  "Even older, so they tell me."

"Does it have a story?"

"Maybe?"  Her smile flitted across her face again, as he echoed back her earlier hopeful question, and her attention finally slid from his face back to the box in her hand.

"Ohhh," her breath sighed out as she pushed the lid back, her free hand hovering for a moment between them, as if she was afraid to touch.  "It's beautiful."

_Not nearly as beautiful as you._

Which was a line if ever he'd heard one, and she'd quite probably smack him for saying it.  But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

"They say," he murmured, watching her watch the ring, watching her tilt her head, just a little to the side, to listen to him speak.  "That the very first Vael to wander through Scotland was an adventurous sort. Hiked his way up mountains and down again, crossed streams and lochs, shipped himself around islands, panned for gold and gathered pearls, and made that ring himself when he settled, at last, on a nice Scottish lass to marry."

Her hand finally lowered, just enough to allow one finger to brush against the round dark blue stone in the middle of the plain setting, the pearls set into the band of the ring itself.  "And this?"

"They have sapphires on the Isle of Harris.  Or used to."

"So the story goes?"

"Well, once upon a time there was a fair bit of gold, and enough freshwater mussels to make very fine pearls, so the story's technically possible."

"Technically?" She was still watching the ring more than him, a slight lift in her voice as she asked her question, only one sideways glance at him as he answered.

"No one's ever quite had the heart to have the ring appraised, for fear of proving our lovely family history to be no more than a tale."  She smiled, soft and slow, and he made himself continue.  "I do know that it once graced my Grandmother's hand, given to her by my Grandfather, who had been given it by  _his_  mother, and I would like, most desperately," it was hard to breathe, not nearly enough air in the room as he shifted, just enough, to reach past her hand and pull the ring from the box, to offer it to her to hold, "to give it to you."

Her fingertips just barely brushed against his, a hint of skin to skin, as she took the ring. She sighed, tilted it to see it catch the light.  "Shall I hold it for our grandchildren then?"

"Now it's yours," he managed, a rasp of breath almost catching in his throat, thickening his words, "you may do whatever you wish with it."  He waited 'til her eyes met his, soft and shining, the smile curving her lips like nothing he'd ever seen, impossible and perfect.  "But yes, I'd like that very much."

She slid forward out of the chair, almost right into his arms, and he was kissing her even before her knees landed on the floor, warm lips, warm skin beneath the stroking of his thumb, heavy thick hair catching on his fingers as his hand cradled the side of her head, his other arm wrapping around her to keep her close.

Her arms settled against his shoulders, her hands caught behind his neck as she pulled them tighter together, hummed softly into his mouth as she kissed him again, and again, then let her head fall back with a laugh.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin, kissed the line of her jaw, beneath her ear, let his nose trail down her neck as her laughter eased. "That probably should have been the first thing I said, rather than the last." She shifted in his arms, and he raised his head, smiled at her as she smiled at him, and rested his forehead against hers. "My heart is yours."

" _My beloved is mine, and I am his,"_ she answered softly, brushed her lips gently against his cheek in a kiss, her breath trembling against his skin before she spoke again, her smile clear in the tone of her voice even when he couldn't see it anymore.  "I'm not feeding you any lilies though."

He coughed out half a laugh.  "Most people consider that line a metaphor."

"That would be even worse."  She leaned into him, resting against his shoulder, his chest, her arms still draped around him, though they slid a bit further down his arms.  "I don't need some pure and lofty ideal.  I like you here, flesh and blood for me to touch, to hold me tight."

He closed his eyes, slowly swallowed the heat in his throat and kissed the top of her head.  "Always," he mouthed, his voice an ache, a rumble in his chest, thick and almost inaudible.

She heard him even so, her arms squeezing tight for just a moment.

She pushed on his shoulders then, and straightened up onto her feet, his favorite half smile lifting one side of her mouth, her eyebrow arcing up as well, as she held out the ring, and he realized he'd never  _technically_ asked, and neither had she answered.

He took the ring, and her hand, and lined them up, the ring just past her fingertip, before lifting his eyes, feeling his lips twitch as he tried not to laugh.  "My dearest Adelaide Hawke, would you do the honor of marrying me?"

"Why Sebastian Vael, I thought you'd never ask." Her quirked smile widened into a grin.  "That would be a yes, in case you weren't sure."

He couldn't hold in the chuckle at that, and he slid the ring onto her finger; it didn't make it past her second knuckle.

"Have to get it resized," he sighed, even as Adelaide grinned even wider and wiggled her fingers at him. "Grandmama was a ridiculously tiny woman for how tall her children were."

"Oh no," Adelaide sighed, reaching out her hands to help him to his feet.  "Don't tell me about giant children, here I was hoping that ours would end up shorter than me, if only for a little while."

"I'm sure they will be for a _little while._ " He kissed her nose, one short brief peck, and watched the wrinkles along the bridge as she squinted back at him in response. "I have met Bethany and Carver, love.  Everyone's taller than you.  You may have until ours are, perhaps, ten?"

She snorted, and tried to scowl, and half-heartedly punched him in the shoulder.  He grabbed her hand, and kissed her knuckles, and there, again, was that perfect laugh, right before she kissed him again.


	2. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a scene I was trying to write in the tone of the actual 'turning point' of the romances in DA2, that first night together that changes the relationship. It never quite fit in any of the other fic I was writing about Adelaide and Sebastian, and I eventually reworked it into a gift for the ever-lovely-and-brilliant [tarysande](http://tarysande.tumblr.com).

 

**The City of Kirkwall**  
 **Wishes to Recognize**  
 **the Strength and Bravery of**  
 **The Champion,**  
 **Lady Amell, Adelaide Hawke**  
 **at a Reception in Her Honour**  
 **this 17th Day of Cloudreach, 9:35**

**You Shall be Welcomed at the Viscount’s Keep**  
 **at one-half-candle after dusk.**

> _Hawke:_  
>   
>  _Pick an appropriate escort, find some decent clothes, and for the Maker’s sake, (not to mention mine), don’t carry any visible weapons. Also if you could manage not to insult the other guests, I would appreciate the effort._  
>   
>  _Seneschal Bran_

* * *

“You look lovely, Hawke.”  
  
A familiar, precious voice spoke from the top of the stairs, and Adelaide relaxed against the banister with a contented sigh, letting her invitation and Bran's letter slide out of her fingers to the floor.

 _Deal with that later._  
  
“Thank you.” She turned her head slightly, admiring the view as he approached through the gloom, the dark grey of his suit blending into the shadows of the unlit landing, a contrast from his usual gleaming white armor. _Always the handsome Prince, however. As if there was any doubt._ “But... Hawke? Should I start calling you Vael, then?”  
  
“If you’d like.” Sebastian stopped just a few steps away, smiling down at her with a slight tilt of his head. “Wasn’t sure you’d appreciate the familiarity, tonight. The gossips will assume, well, all the things gossips tend to assume about the recently famous. Or infamous.”  
  
“Oh, they’ll think I’ve corrupted the nice chantry boy? I like that.” She shrugged slightly, returning his smile as she glanced over at him through her eyelashes. “Much better then too many questions about how I beat the Arishok, after all. I’d rather not have to talk about being a mage, even if it is now public knowledge.”  
  
“Ah, so that’s why you accepted my invitation to escort you? To distract the nobles?”  
  
“No,” Adelaide whispered softly, stepping away from the half-wall she’d been leaning against and smoothing down the front of her dress, the unexpected heat rising across her cheeks forcing her to keep her face aimed down at the floor. _Mustn’t tell you I wanted to pretend, just for a night, that such rumors could be true._  
  
“No?”  
  
“Well, it was either you or Varric. Aveline’s working, and no one else thought showing their face at the Keep was a grand idea.” She forced a light smile on her face before finally looking up into Sebastian's face. “And have you seen him dance?”  
  
He chuckled softly, though she thought she saw a hint of something, sad, perhaps, flash through his eyes. “I should warn you, I do have an ulterior motive. Being seen with The Champion can only help the reputation of Starkhaven’s Prince, and since I’m leaving on the morrow to investigate my cousin...”  
  
Surprise sharpened her voice. “You’re leaving! Now?” _You’d leave me alone? After everything?_  
  
“I have to,” Sebastian stuttered uncertainly, as if surprised himself by her interruption. “We were talking about it, before?” He shifted slightly, his shrug encompassing the past few weeks of lunacy with graceful eloquence. “Kirkwall is safe, for now, thanks to you. And I cannot put off my responsibilities any longer. However much I might, prefer...” He trailed off slowly, his gaze warm as he smiled softly at her.  
  
 _Oh, he has such beautiful, kind eyes. And I am a horrible, horrible person. Stop fantasizing about your best friend, self._ Adelaide dropped her gaze from his, again, trying to control her reactions. But that meant she was staring right at his velvet-clad chest, which was Not Helping. Swallowing, she took a step back and turned blindly towards the window, eyes closed as she tried to shut down her imagination. She could very clearly picture the play of muscles as he drew his bow, however, or did... other... things.  
  
“Adelaide?” His hand was warm on her shoulder, his voice soft and sweet, and all she could think was how very long it had been since she had done... other... things herself. “What’s wrong?”  
  
She turned towards him, opening her mouth to make some stupid joke about not knowing what to do with her hands in finery instead of robes or leathers, no stave on her back, _or something_ , but her body overrode her brain, and instead she leaned forward the slightest bit, and pressed her lips to his. Her entire body flushed with delicious warmth for just a moment, until her brain grabbed control again, and she took a step back in horrified panic, her eyes flying open as she backed herself into the wall between the windows.  
  
“I’m sor--”  
  
Sebastian’s arms wrapped around her, his mouth on hers again before she could finish. She grunted softly in surprise, deep in her throat, before tilting her head slightly to match the passion of his kiss with pressure of her own. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair. He held her so tightly against his chest she could barely breathe, and oh, she didn’t give a damn, pushing herself against him as hard as she could, long years of frustrated denial forgotten now that she finally had the taste of him in her mouth, along her tongue, the warmth of him a burning brand down the length of her body.  
  
A short eternity of delight, before he pulled his head back, just enough to speak, his breath heavy against her face. “Don’t you dare apologize.”  
  
“Never,” she breathed out softly. “But, I thought you, I mean, what just... we just?”  
  
His arms loosened as he started inching carefully backwards, his sharp gaze intent on her face until he reached the bench by the head of the stairs, pulling her down to sit next to him, hip to hip. “I wasn’t going to say this now, but... I would offer you no less than a Prince. For The Champion. The strongest alliance the Free Marches have ever seen. When I am successful, would you consider it? Us? Together?”  
  
“Together? Us?” _For The Champion, not Adelaide._ “An alliance. For the good of Starkhaven?” She slid her hand out of his grasp, standing up, taking a step back, two, three, trying to think. _Obviously he wants me, as much as I want him, but is that it? Just lust? A political alliance with benefits?_  
  
“You’re the one who convinced me to continue what I’d started,” Sebastian spoke slowly, his hand clenching slightly around empty air as she backed away from him. “To fight for the memory of my family. To do what needed to be done, rather than retreat back to the comfort of the Chantry, because my people were more important then my oaths.” He paused, she could hear him swallow as he glanced down, briefly, his eyes flickering quickly back up to her face. “As protecting the people of Kirkwall had to be more important to you.”  
  
 _He’s the one, the only one who knows how close I came to handing Isabela over, to betraying her to them as she almost betrayed me, in order to save the City._  
  
“I,” Adelaide closed her eyes, trying not to cry. “Of course. I just.” She turned away, trying to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, trying not to remember the feel of his heat just moments ago. Of his arms holding her when she’d cried. After Carver, after Mother...

 _How can I ask more from him, when he’s already given so much?_  
  
The softest tap of his shoe against the floor as he stood, moved one step closer, following her retreat. “Just what?”  
  
“I never wanted to be The Champion. And I certainly never wanted that to be why you, or I.” Hawke stopped, taking a deep breath and turning around, staring at him in determination. “I don’t want politics from you, Sebastian.”  
  
“Really?” Another step closer, his eyes filling her gaze. “I did not think that you’d accept more than politics. Everything you have ever done was to keep other people safe. I was afraid, if I told you I’d forgo it all to follow you wherever you went, to abandon my people, to live with you in Hightown, or Darktown, or traipsing down the Wounded Coast, I’d lose what little of your respect I might have managed to earn, and I could bear that even less then,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “even less then the thought of never getting to feel your lips on mine again.”  
  
“Oh,” Adelaide breathed out softly, her heart aching in her chest, her fingers trembling.  
  
“We both know I’m impulsive.” His lips curved into a wry half-smile. “And I’m certain my people, if they are ever to be my people again, would appreciate your tempering influence. But you... THIS. Is not an impulse." He was even closer now, close enough she could feel the lift of his chest when he took a breath between words. "I have desired you since the day I met you. I have respected you since you showed me you were a mage, despite the dangers, because it was more important to help me than yourself. And I think I realized I was in love with you when you told me to be sure to scrub behind my ears to get all the evil out.”  
  
 _Love?_

“See, I knew I was funny.” Her voice echoed the trembling that had spread from her fingertips to the rest of her body, so light-headed she had trouble hearing her own voice.  
  
“Not really, no.” His hand finally reached across the short distance between them, cupping her cheek.  
  
She sighed softly, leaning into his touch again rather then pulling away, her eyelashes damp as she blinked, her body settling back under her control. “So insulting my sense of humor is your idea of a seduction?”  
  
"Oh, this is much more than just a seduction, Adelaide." His voice was soft, his brogue thick and lingering against her skin as she listened to him in the dark behind closed eyes. "After all these years, I'd think you'd know me better than that."  
  
"I do." Her heart was beating hard, an ache within her chest, she didn't want to ruin this, but... she lifted her head and her eyelids, meeting his gaze directly. "What then, is this a proposal?"  
  
“No.” His voice was suddenly hard, sharp-edged with regret. “I knelt before the Maker and swore I would take no bride before Andraste. I may be foresworn, but I can only bend so far. I can never marry you.”  
  
She closed her eyes briefly, her heart aching with an echo of both relief and regret, followed by a surge of pride in this man, and his honor. _A treasure beyond price._ Her eyes opened, her hand reaching up to cup his where it still rested against her face. “Then what are you asking?”  
  
“That even without vows, you would consent to sit with me when I face my people, to fight at my back when we confront our enemies.” A second hand reached up to hold her other cheek, his eyes burning as he stared into her face. She felt the heat in her cheeks fade, start to gather again in a tight coil low in her body. “To sleep in my arms at night, so I can adore you until you call my name out with pleasure.”  
  
Her breath fled her body in a ragged sigh, heat spreading in a wave as she thought of him in her arms, between her legs, night after night. Her hands moved, tangling themselves tight in his hair, pulling her mouth to his with a sudden fierce determination she no longer needed to try and hide. _This, oh this_ , even her thoughts felt breathless with need, _I want this, every day._

She tugged back on his hair until their mouths parted, as she tried to remember how to speak.  
  
“Andraste’s Grace,” he murmured before she’d managed a single word, “please tell me that was a yes.”  
  
“I love you, too,” she blurted out, “I didn’t say that, when you did, but I do. Only you. For years. Maker’s blessing or not, I will love you faithfully until the day I die. And I’m babbling, I’ll just stop,” she trailed off in embarrassment. “I’ve been spending too much time with Merrill.”  
  
“Years?”  
  
“My secret shame.” _That Isabela absolutely picked up on and teased me about. She and Varric are going to be impossible tomorrow._ “The handsome Brother with the beautiful voice. And you were so nice, all the time. And then your family, and I saw you shoot, and despite some initial qualms you didn’t actually turn anyone in to the Templars, and you worried, but you never judged, and you’re... just... perfect.”  
  
“I am very far from perfect.”  
  
“For me, you are.” The sudden surge of bravery faded, and she ducked her head, her voice soft. “But if you do not spend this night with me, before you leave, you will break my heart.”  
  
“A gift much too precious to risk bruising, much less breaking. I would be honored.” A single bent finger, the callus along the knuckle rough under her chin, the simple touch lifting her face towards his again. He kissed her, gently, his lips sending a sweet shiver down her spine. “I don’t believe I could resist, in all honesty.”  
  
“Then let’s not even try.” It was her turn to step backwards, tugging gently at his hands to lead him towards her bedroom door.  
  
Instead he planted his feet, shaking his head sadly. “Not that I wish to change direction, but we are both expected elsewhere. By people whose goodwill we can’t afford to lose.”  
  
“Maker’s...” Adelaide’s body fell forward, pulling her back into his arms, her head landing on Sebastian’s chest with a thump. “Couldn’t I just send Seneschal Bran my regrets? I’m sure he wouldn’t hold it against me every single day for the rest of my life... much.”  
  
“I shall escort you, messere Hawke, and I shall keep an eye out for an early escape route.” He chuckled softly, gently smoothing his hand over the elaborate braids Orana had somehow forced her hair to hold. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer.”  
  
“Then it shall have to do, my Prince.” She took a careful step back, smoothing the front of her dress yet again. She spun in a slow circle, trying to see if they’d wrinkled it during their back and forth across the landing. “How’s my dress?”  
  
“You are simply glorious,” he whispered hoarsely, “you and your dress.” He cleared his throat softly, before holding out his arm, elbow bent. “Shall we?” She lightly settled her hand beneath his elbow, nodding slightly.  
  
“We shall give the gossips much to talk about, won’t we?” Adelaide grinned up at him as they started down the stairs. “Arriving late, leaving early, you disappearing on the morrow? Should I haunt the Keep’s ramparts at night, while you’re gone? I could wail and cry in the middle of the night. I bet I wail quite well.”  
  
Sebastian coughed slightly. “I think there have been a few too many things in your life, as late, to have inspired wailing.” His far hand reached over and gently patted her fingers, before returning to rest by his side. “Wouldn’t want anyone to wonder if you’re really crazy, rather than graced with a very poor sense of humor.”  
  
“That was a laugh you just smothered!" She nudged him gently with her elbow. "If I have a very poor sense of humor, you do too.”  
  
“What? No, that was a cough. Definitely a cough, from all the, um...”  
  
“Orana keeps this place spotless. You cannot blame imaginary dust.”  
  
“All the lack of incense? I’m used to incense. Even the Visitor’s Quarters at the Chantry are imbued with brazier smoke.”  
  
“It soaks into the stone, doesn’t it? I’ve always felt like it did, but no one else ever agreed with me.” Adelaide came to a sudden stop in the foyer, just before the door, looking at Sebastian's face, desperate to read his expression. “You are staying with me, now? When you get back? Not the Chantry?”  
  
“I will stay wherever you want me, for as long as you’ll have me.”  
  
“Well.” Adelaide sighed in relief. “That’s all right then.”  
  
“You really have been spending a lot of time with Merrill, haven’t you?”  
  
“It’s all Varric’s fault. He worries when she spends too many days in her house, fussing with that mirror. Makes us all take turns dragging her out into the sunlight.”  
  
“Ah, yes.” Sebastian nodded in agreement. “She comes to _lauds_ with me a few times a week. She says she likes the light at dawn. And that the music is pretty, even if the story doesn’t make much sense.”  
  
Adelaide’s light laugh filled the small room. “Somehow I doubt either of us will ever convince her Andraste was more than a pretty lady in an old tale.”  
  
“I would be content with convincing her blood-magic is too high a price to pay for her people’s past,” Sebastian countered softly.  
  
Adelaide sighed in agreement. “Not a conversation for tonight, though.” She turned toward the door again, a nervous frown creasing the middle of her brow.  
  
“You’re the guest of honor, Hawke. I don’t think they’ll throw you in the Gallows tonight.”  
  
“Gallows!” Adelaide clapped a hand over her mouth, as if to push the shout back in, eyes wide as she glared at Sebastian. “Right.” She dropped her hand, continuing at a more normal volume. “Here I was worried about remembering which fork to use, or avoiding country dances, as I was almost literally raised in a barn at a few points. Thanks so much for adding potential incarceration to the list.”  
  
“You’ll do fine. You’ll probably set a new fashion or two, while you’re at it.”  
  
“I hope not.” Adelaide shuddered slightly. “Then I’ll just have to come to more of these things.”  
  
“They’re not all bad. Some wine, some food, some music...”  
  
“Some nobles... bunch of whiny, arrogant...” Adelaide trailed off suddenly. “Present company excluded, of course.”  
  
“I did my share of complaining and posturing when I was younger.” Sebastian nudged her gently outside, closing the door behind them. “Some of them have learned better as well.”  
  
“We’ll see.” She smiled up at him in the moonlight, taking one deep breath of the cool night air before turning to face the Keep, light spilling down the steps towards the Hightown courtyard.  
  
Walking up the broad staircase was like travelling into a dream world, torches and lanterns flickering in the night, servants running back and forth, small groups of finely dressed nobles gathered by the columns lining the walk-way, music drifting out from the Keep itself.  
  
“Finally!” They turned to see Seneschal Bran, hovering right by the first column on the left. “Arriving at the last minute. I just knew you’d have to push things, Hawke.” He paused, suddenly giving an abrupt nod. “At least you and Vael look the part. And no staff or bow. Thank you.” He spun sharply on his toes, and headed for the stairs without a single backward glance.  
  
“I can never tell if he’s just very busy,” Adelaide whispered to Sebastian as they followed, “or if he really does despise me.”  
  
“I think you just ruin all his attempts at order.” Sebastian’s voice was equally low and quiet. “Which I do believe is part of your charm. Though I don’t think he appreciates it the way I do.”  
  
“I would hope not!”  
  
His fingers tightened around hers, a promise for later, and they swept their way into the festivities.

* * *

She’d been trying NOT to proposition the man for almost five years. Now that he was actually in her bedroom, she had no idea what to do with herself. Or him. And he’d been living in lay-quarters under a vow of chastity for, _what, fourteen years?_ , so she doubted he had much of a plan either. _Then again, he has more actual experience then I do, even if it’s not particularly recent._ Her hands clenched tightly in front of her stomach. _Maker’s Breath, I’m nervous._  
  
And there he was, her handsome Prince, kneeling in front of her, wrapping his strong hands around hers, dropping a kiss on her fingers. “If you’re not ready, Adelaide, if this is too sudden, I understand.”  
  
“Four years, Sebastian. Nothing can be sudden after four years. I’m just... I don’t... I mean...” She trailed off with a frustrated moan. _You're more important to me then anyone else I’ve ever known and I’m convinced_ _I’m somehow going to ruin it all tonight sounds rather silly. Especially after asking you to stay._  
  
For answer he leaned forward slightly, placing one soft kiss in the middle of her stomach, his hands sliding to hold her around her hips. Her eyelids fluttered, her hands gripping his shoulders, her breath suddenly so loud in her ears she barely heard him whisper. “Thank the Maker, I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”  
  
She giggled slightly, before clapping both hands over her mouth to stop the noise. “That obvious, am I? I know I flirt with almost everyone, but I don’t actually, you know, very often, that is... not that I’ve never, because, I mean, I had a friend in Lothering, and he was perfectly nice and all, but it was more a case of we were both tired of always being alone, and outsiders, plus that one time with Isabela, and I think the fact that I took her up on it surprised us both, and oh, why am I babbling again?”  
  
“Shhh,” his thumbs stroked gently as he tilted his head to smile at her, hands shifting softly against the silk of her dress, the room so quiet she could hear the rasp as the smooth fabric caught on the calluses across his fingertips. “I am weak man, but I must admit, the mental image of you and Isabela...” He shook his head slightly, a hint of a flush across his cheeks.  
  
Adelaide smiled back, amusement helping to dispel the lingering confusing traces of unexpected shyness.  
  
She could feel his breath catch as he looked up at her face, a moment of silence before he leaned back slightly and rose to his feet, balanced well enough on his toes that she felt not the slightest in crease in pressure on her hips. Though she was thoroughly distracted by the realization that she could see the muscles of his thighs shift underneath his leggings as he pushed himself up, blinking at him in surprise when he stopped moving. _Oh, look, his lips are right there... and they’re moving. Wait. Talking. Sounds lovely. What did he say?_

“Though realizing I have the recent example of our intrepid Isabela to compare myself to is not easing my own nerves.”  
  
“Oh, that was years ago, right after we met. Not recent at all.” _Not since I realized I was hopelessly infatuated with you._ “And why are you nervous? You’ve said that twice now. You used to do this all the time, didn’t you?”  
  
“It has been a long time since I bedded a women, Adelaide. And I’ve never done this. I never loved any of the women I knew before the Chantry, so I never really cared what they thought of me. But you...” his accent thickened slightly, adding to the weak feeling in her knees. “I want more then anything to make you happy.”  
  
 _There are no words for how happy I am._ Adelaide leaned forward until her lips just barely reached his, her heart aching at the gentle touch, her lungs tight as they filled with the scent of the man before her, eyes blinking slowly as she leaned back again, the air rich and sweet, like she was drowning in mead. “You’re doing a spectacular job so far, promise,” she whispered huskily.  
  
She wasn’t sure if it was the kiss, or the words, or if her voice had much the same effect on him as his always did on her, but his arms were suddenly moving, breath audibly harsh in the back of his throat as he swept her up in his arms and strode towards the bed. “I can do better,” he whispered roughly, though his motions were slow and controlled as he lowered her gently to rest on top of her comforter.  
  
“Impossible,” Adelaide mouthed back at him. _I could die happy, right now, as long as I was with him. Not that I want to die. Growing old together is a much better plan. Just in case someone’s listening. No dying. Thanks._  
  
“I must disagree,” Sebastian’s hand was warm against her cheek, a chuckle softening his face and voice. “Where did you just go?”  
  
“Oh, well, happy and all, just... hoping this lasts for a very long time.”  
  
“A challenge, then? Questioning my performance before I’ve even started?”  
  
“Not like th-! Well, not that I wouldn’t enjoy, I mean-" Adelaide sputtered to a halt as Sebastian grinned at her from his perch on the side of the bed. “You are a wicked, devious man, you know that?”  
  
“Only for you,” his grin faded, his eyes darkening as his gaze rested on her face. “Always for you.”  
  
“Always?” She sat up at the same time as he leaned forward.  
  
“Always,” he whispered into her mouth, but she forced herself to turn her head before their lips met, knowing if he kissed her again she’d be lost.  
  
“Sebastian, please,” her voice cracked on the whisper. “Don’t make promises. I’m a mage. And everyone knows I’m a mage. Consort to a Prince, even without marriage, is much too close to magic ruling over man, and you know it. The Chantry could declare an Exalted March on Starkhaven.” She forced herself to turn her head again, to look him in the eyes. “I could not bear being the reason your people suffered again.”  
  
“The only thing you rule over is my heart.” Sebastian slid his fingers over hers, his expression serious. “And after everything and everyone I’ve lost, I could not bear to give that up. Not even for Starkhaven.”  
  
Eyes closed to hold in hot tears, Adelaide squeezed tightly on the hands within her grasp. “We may not have a choice.” _Both our families, gone, all gone. I would not survive losing you too. But oh, I can see a world where I may have to try..._  
  
“And if you have to leave, I may have to let you go.” His grip was just as tight as hers, his voice thick with answering sorrow, filling her heart until it ached. “Though I will do everything in my power to prevent that. I will always be with you, if I can. If I fail, I will still love you, and I will miss you ‘til my dying day. Always.”  
  
She sensed him shift beside her, lean closer. And then his lips were on her neck, his tongue tracing a path down to her shoulder as her body leaned towards him. The warmth of his mouth lifted slightly, the heat of his breath soft against her collarbone, starting a shiver that fled down her body all the way to her toes. “Forget about the future, love. For now, at least.”

He lifted his head to kiss her again, and it was easy enough to do as he asked, to lose herself in him, in silk and velvet slowly removed, the feel of skin on skin, the heat of his breath and his brogue and his body. One perfect night, at least, no matter what the future would bring, one night of pleasure, and love, and falling asleep with his arm around her shoulder, legs brushing together, the beat of his heart beneath her ear, the hard muscles of his chest the best pillow she'd ever had.


	3. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from [Sapphy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Sapphyre) for an AU meme on tumblr: Adelaide Hawke, amnesia. *sobs*

Adelaide woke with a strangled scream, her breath heavy and loud in the dim room.

"Shh," Sebastian whispered, jerked up from his uneasy perch in the chair beside the bed, reaching out to touch, to soothe, until he woke   enough to recognize that she was pushing herself hard against the headboard, eyes fixed on his hands in something perilously close to terror.

He closed his fingers tight, feeling the tremor in his arms as he forced them down and away from her.  

"It's alright Hawke,"  _not Adelaide, not my Adelaide, she doesn't know,_ "'twas just a dream."

"It wasn't!"  Her voice was tight, her fingers gripped tight around the edge of the blanket she'd pulled all the way up to her chin.  "There were whispers, voices, I can still hear them!"

Sebastian repressed a shudder, a reminder of all the skills she'd lost along with her memories, the self-control they'd all taken for granted, assumed a part of her character... until it wasn't.

"Can you ignore it?  Just for a little longer?"  He glanced at the windows, the very faint hint of grey light just visible around the edges of the curtains.  "Anders will be here, with breakfast, remember?"

She nodded, slowly, but he could see the trembles she was trying to suppress.

He leaned back in his chair, as far from her as he could stand, and opened his mouth to sing.  An old nursery rhyme, of birds and songs and silly nests, the first thing that came to mind.

It was the only thing they'd found to soothe her, the only thing that didn't make her worry about what she'd forgotten, and what they remembered.

It was Merrill's turn to sit with her tomorrow, after Anders.  The two of them were trying so hard to re-teach her, to help her stay safe.  To keep them all safe.

But she woke more often to the whispers, now, almost every night.  They were running out of time.

And what could they do against her, if the Champion herself succumbed to Kirkwall's madness?


	4. Adelaide de Launcet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from imagineyourotp:
>
>> Imagine your OTP having never met at all. But one day as Person A is walking throughout the park, they spot Person B just a few feet away. Person A stares at Person B, feeling the strongest connection, or as if they’ve met each other somehow. Person B looks towards Person A and their eyes widen, unmistakably feeling that same connection.
> 
> Oh look. Adelaide/Sebastian feels. <3
> 
> (This one presupposes a Kirkwall wherein Leandra never met Malcolm, and married the Comte de Launcet, just as her family had wanted.)

"Milady de Launcet." The voice of the man bowing over her hand jolted Adelaide back to the present.  She'd been rather going through the motions of the receiving line for mother's latest  _soiree_ , and realized she had no idea who she'd just been introduced to, beyond the fact that he had nice hair and a rich Starkhaven accent.  "It is an honour to meet you."

"Thank you, messere," she started, trying desperately to recall something that would help her place his name.  He lifted his head just a little, his fingers still warm against her hand, and looked up at her face through his eyelashes, and she just stopped.

Her voice was gone, lungs and heart frozen in that  _blue_ , as if everything she was could be held in his eyes, that flash of colour traveling all the way to her soul as his fingers tightened around her hand, his body as still as her breath.

And then her father loomed over her shoulder and got the receiving line moving again.

"Do not encourage him."  The whisper was soft but dark during that instant they were alone, and she widened her eyes at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about, a polite smile still fixed on both their faces.

"The youngest Vael is trouble, everyone knows it, and why his family didn't disown him at some point in the last five years is a matter for endless debate.  We do not need the attention."  The Comte tilted his head just enough to aim a frown at her before his mask returned and he bowed to the Seneschal and his wife.  

_Of course we don't.  Every day father, remind me how disappointed you are.  Maybe if Grandpere de Launcet had been honest with Grandfather Amell, they both wouldn't have flung their mage-blooded families together, and, shockingly enough, ended up with a mage for a grand-daughter._

But that was not an argument to be had in public, so she ducked her head and returned to her duties.

And refrained from thanking her father for making sure she now knew the blue-eyed noble's name.

_Sebastian Vael._


	5. glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by brbfade's art:  
> 

The vest had been his father’s.  His mother had always bought him something blue on his birthday.  Said it matched his eyes.

_Vael eyes._

_I’m the only one left with Vael eyes._

It had been years since that thought was heavy enough to break his heart or stop his breath, but it still ached a little, a tightness in his throat that never quite went away.

He’d gotten good at ignoring it, however, stretching his neck as he adjusted his tie, tucking the ends under soft blue fabric before smoothing the front of the vest and tugging at the bottom, just once, to make sure it was hanging straight past his belt.

His watch had a blue face too.  It had been a graduation present from his mother.  One of the few gifts he thought she’d actually picked out on her own, rather than just suggesting a price range to her assistant.

That hurt in a completely different way, memories of regret and disappointment and the occasional shining glimpse of pride or hope.

He wondered if she’d be proud of him, were she still alive.

He didn’t truly think so,  _Vaels are leaders not lecturers,_  but he was happier now than he’d ever expected to manage.

“Oh, I missed the tie?”

He turned, smiling at the sight of Adelaide leaning against the doorframe,  _and there’s the only reason things eventually turned out so very well._

“You enjoy watching me attempt to strangle myself?”

She laughed a little, even as she stepped closer and he found himself watching the shift along her hips beneath her jeans.  He sighed as she reached him, hands tugging his collar straight, smoothing the fabric across his shoulders.  ”I enjoy watching the way you lift your chin, and the way your body shifts under this vest.”

She lifted her gaze from his throat to his eyes, and that was all it took for both of them, thinking of all that skin under his shirt and her sweater and precisely how much time they had until she had to leave.

_It’s not enough._

She apparently disagreed, her smile widening as she lifted her hands and slowly slid his glasses off his face.  He blinked, bringing her back into focus as she set them aside, and she made an irresistibly pleased sort of hum in the back of her throat.  “How did you get such pretty, pretty eyes?”

“Looking at you, of course.”

She snorted with laughter, though it changed to a groan as he leaned in and kissed her neck, and moved up the line of her jaw, and then he met her lips, and it was his turn to groan into her mouth as her hands clung to his shoulders and he pulled her close against his chest.

“I love you,” he said, his nose brushing against her cheek, “but you’re going to be late.”

“I know.”  She kissed him again anyways, warm and sweet and laughing, before stepping back and picking up his glasses again.  ”At least let me watch?”

He ducked his head, feeling oddly inclined to blush, despite their years together, feeling his fingertips brush against his palm as he picked the sturdy frames up again.  He unfolded the temple bars, and looked up at her through his lashes as he slowly pushed his glasses back up onto his nose.

“Mmm,” she smiled again, grabbed his cheeks and pulled him close, one quick hard kiss and a smudge of her nose against the glass, before dashing out the door.  ”Love you!”

He laughed, even as he went searching for a tissue to clean the lens.  

_Love you too._


	6. oops?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> metriculous requested an Adelaide/Sebastian, genderswap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to think that if Sebastian had always been female, she’d have progressed much higher in the Chantry hierarchy in ten years, and would have been much less likely to seek martial revenge for her family, as she’d have other forms of power open to her. So, to get this to work, I went with accidental genderswap sometime during the game.

She was still clearly Adelaide.  A little short, a little solid, each shift of weight deceptively graceful.  The same impossibly black hair absorbing the light, the same patrician nose, though it stood out less now, her entire face just a touch wider, changing the proportions.  

It was very difficult not to let his eyes linger along the line of her shoulders, down her chest and across her hips and  _no_ he was not going to stare at her groin and wonder what was beneath the stretch of her trousers.  Instead he forced his attention to stay on her face, the dark mole still visible beneath her left eye.  The same startled lift of her brows as she lifted her hands and stared at them, because, despite obviously still being  _Adelaide_ , those clearly weren’t her hands.

He found himself wondering what they’d feel like against his skin, how far they could stretch, broader fingers splayed across his hip or thigh, and he almost stumbled as he turned away.  His balance was  _off,_  his body shifting in all the wrong places, and he could feel the heat of his blush across his cheeks and chest and  _Maker_  he was trying not to think too much about his chest, because he could feel his breasts pushing against his breastplate and that was just not something he knew how to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course it’s terribly awkward, and eventually they have some really bad sex, and then they have really disturbingly spectacular sex, and then Merrill figures out how to cure them and it’s awkward again for completely different reasons until they manage to talk out their tangle of feelings which mostly boils down to “I still really love you either way" and then everything goes back to normal? Or as normal as Kirkwall gets, anyways.


	7. lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an AU fill for [janie](http://janiemcpants.tumblr.com/).
> 
> What if Adelaide never braved the Chantry, before Act I?

She was too tired to do anything besides crawl back to Gamlen’s, most mornings, staggering into bed just before dawn started leaking through the cracks around the windows and doors.

Carver hid his grief and anger in excess, a young Galmen in training, though even she wasn’t tired enough to say so, despite the ache it caused, watching him spend what coin he looted and earned on ale, or whores, or cards, almost never home to rest, to recuperate, to help her take care of mother.

Not that it felt like home.

Nothing felt like home.

Sometimes, when Athenril set her free early, she’d climb up onto the roof in the dark, look up at Hightown, the tower of the Chantry clear above the lines of cliffs and roofs hemming in the rest of the view.

She wished she remembered what it felt like, feeling safe in the Maker’s House, prayer and song and confession.  

But that was before Kirkwall.  Before she had to keep her head so very far down.

She wasn’t sure she’d survive this year at Athenril’s heels.

She was even less sure she’d know how to keep going afterwards, without those slim dangerous hands keeping the Templars back.


	8. druxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _Druxy_  - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.
> 
> Prompted by [ididntchoosethenerdlife](http://ididntchoosethenerdlife.tumblr.com) for [this meme](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/67861636601) ... and this is a terrible, terrible post-game AU and I'm not sure I'm ever going to forgive them for inspiring me to think of it ;_;

Adelaide Vael took to wearing lacquer across her nails, now that they were long, _too long for staff-work, a Princess doesn’t need such things,_ so she couldn’t see the tiny flecks of dirt that caught beneath the tips, would not remember how they had looked with Anders’ blood beneath them.

Could not recall how they’d torn, clawing at the stone beside Carver’s body, when nothing else could relieve the sharp pain of being  _too late, too late, always, forever, again._

Sebastian had picked her up when she had fallen, had carried her away.

To safety.

But safety had a price, of course.  They had to have the power to enforce it, so they had stormed Starkhaven itself.

Neither of them ever mentioned the bright splash of innocent blood, a brilliant red against the white stone of the Keep’s walls.

It was the price they had to pay to be secure.

They assured the people that  _of course_ no mage could have been promoted to Champion of Kirkwall, that rumor had held sway, enemies wishing to discredit the tale of a young slight woman who had stood before the qunari when no one else would dare.

No one could deny them, and they were cheered as they were crowned, _all hail the Prince and Princess of Starkhaven, the Champion of Kirkwall herself, come to defend our home as well._

But they could not risk mageborn children. Not now, not so soon after Anders’ atrocity.  So she kept drinking the tea she had smuggled inside, and they declared Goran’s infant son their heir.

His parents were gone, after all.  

The did not speak of them, either, their deaths staining carpets that had barely been cleaned of the last murdered Vaels’ blood.

But it was worth it.

It had to be worth it.

They would be hard, but only because the times demanded it.  Only for a little while.  Only until they were secure upon their thrones.

But that future they were working for, that future when they would finally be  _safe_ _,_ a future when no one else would lose their families as they had, seemed always to be another tomorrow away.

Eventually she did not need to risk the tea, because they no longer shared a bed.

Eventually the things they did not talk about outnumbered the things they did, and they no longer shared breakfast, the silence too much for either of them to bear.  

But they stood together each day at Court, sat beside each other at every formal function, and accepted the grateful thanks of their people, for finally giving them peace.

Flawless, silent, peace.


	9. the boss' orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [tarysande](http://tarysande.tumblr.com) prompted a mafia AU

"Personal vendettas are dangerous in my line of work, Messere Vael." Adelaide leaned back against Athenril’s desk, trying not to fidget.  Athenril never let her underlings hold meetings in  _her_  office.  Clearly this one was important.

Also stupid pretty, but she doubted that had influenced her boss much; Athenril had never let her decisions be swayed by appearances.

"Are you refusing to help me then, Messere Hawke?"  He lifted a brow, his voice thick and smooth,  _stupid pretty accent too, damn it Athenril, why are you making_ me _deal with him?_ But she could see the tension in his stance and across his knuckles.  He wasn’t quite as in control as he pretended.

"Of course not."  Adelaide stood up straight, bowed her head and let her hand wave out to the side, the slightest mimicry of an old-fashioned bow.  "As milady Boss commands, I am here to serve."  A hint of a smile twitched in the corner of his mouth, and she ruthlessly shoved down the urge to smile back.  "I just hope you’re worth it."

"Same here, Messere Hawke."  He shrugged, the slightest shift beneath the well-cut lines of his clearly expensive coat, his eyes surprisingly warm for someone who’d just managed to negotiate a deal with Athenril herself.  "It is not as if either of us can back out now, though, can we?"

"I suppose not."   _Neither of us would make it out of the Docks alive, if we turned on the Boss._ "Shall we go, then?  Get started on our little project?"

"Of course."  He bowed, a real one, short and quick and graceful, stepping aside to gesture at the door.  "After you, Messere."


	10. how to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [teadrinkingdragon](http://teadrinkingdragon.tumblr.com/) prompted: "Seb and Adelaide as weredragons? ^_^"

Hawke hadn’t expected the Witch to  _actually_  teach her to be a dragon.

And she hadn’t, not really.  Instead she’d smiled, sharp and cruel and almost wistful, and she’d let her finger trail against Hawke’s jaw, before leaning in, as if to whisper one last obscure prophecy, and instead she’d nipped, one quick hot flash of pain, and turned away again.  She’d looked over her shoulder before she’d disappeared, leaving them in the mud outside Gwaren, her smile gone, her eyes shadowed.  ”Good luck with that, little one.”

***

Luckily salt water seemed to soothe the fire that built in her blood that very night, and by the time they made it to Kirkwall, she had it mostly under control, slipping up the Coast and into the mountains whenever she could, to let her wings free, and learn how to fly.

She only occasionally clenched something too tightly, the feel of claws shifting beneath her fingers.  Only sometimes had to swallow the heat of fire down a throat too soft to bear it.  Only rarely forgot to duck, letting the heat of battle wash over fragile skin as if she still had scales to protect her.

***

She tried so hard not to fall in love.

She failed.

Even when her other half was free, slipping away through a sky that was never quite as blue as his eyes, as far from Kirkwall as she dared, she could not escape the memory of his smile, could not stop wondering if he would still look at her so softly, if ever he knew precisely what she was.


	11. the red death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [w0rdinista](http://w0rdinista.tumblr.com) prompted: Sebastian/Adelaide, apocalyptic plague outbreak AU.

It was a terrible way to die.  

Not that there were good ways to die, of course.  Dead was dead.

But the dying …

There was a lot to be said for a heavy sleeping draught, or even a knife to the heart, once the distinctive red rash started to spread across your skin.

Merrill had refused it, claiming if she just had enough time to look, to study, maybe she could learn something,  _do_  something …

But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, until blood dripped across the pages of her books, and her body failed, slowly, step by agonizing step, and she died terribly, screaming and writhing, until she was too far gone even for that.

Hawke had had to kill everyone else herself as they succumbed, one by one by one, Sebastian whispering each final good-bye when her own voice grew too thick, her throat barely loose enough to allow a breath, much less a word.

Except for Aveline; she’d taken care of Donnic, and then herself, and no one had known until they found their bodies, lying almost peacefully together on their bed, the terrible red beneath their skin hidden by the fall of the blanket, the shadows cast by the curtains.

And every day it became harder to decide what, precisely, to pray for … a cure for those few still left, or that same red hint beneath her own skin, the promise that, at last, it would all be over.


	12. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> loquaciousquark prompted [DA2 pairing in space](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/82034651155) ... and left the characters up to me. So clearly the world needs more Adelaide/Sebastian? Or something? 
> 
> I just really like _space_.  <3

She wanted the quiet.  She’d applied for the job because she had nothing left to lose; she hadn’t really thought she’d get it. The recruiter had clearly been less than thrilled with her psych eval, but there just weren’t enough qualified people willing to leave everything behind to do the five year deep space shuttle run through the colonies, (especially people without a partner, willing to risk five years paired up with an absolute stranger in such close quarters), and she hadn’t technically _failed…_

So she’d gotten the job.  Had sold the Estate, put what little of her family’s things had survived the riots into long-term storage, kept only her parents’ wedding rings, Daryn’s last set of tags, Bethany’s favorite scarf, Carver’s almost impossible pocket ring-puzzle that she _still_ couldn’t quite crack as quickly as he had, even after way too many years of practice, and left it all behind.

Her whole life, broken down into one small interior pocket of her duffle, and the lingering bitter trail of nightmares waking her up too early every few days, or weeks, or months occasionally, when she was lucky.

She’d been trying to get  _away._

Hadn’t thought she’d end up somewhere worth going  _to._  

But there was something euphoric, almost sacred, about the monthly space walk to inspect the ship, the feel of the universe expanding around her, deep and dark and cold and endlessly beautiful, no sound except her own breath inside her helmet.

And Sebastian’s voice on the comms, going down the checklist with her.

When she was finished with the list, she gave her tether one last check,  _just in case,_ and turn off her mags, and let go of her last hand-hold, let go of every nightmare, every loss, every worry, weightless, careless, nothing left for her but soft black, and the warmth of his voice, keeping her safe.

She hadn’t thought she’d still had it in her to fall in love.

Sebastian liked to joke that it was only sensible of them; sharing quarters reduced their resource usage, and at the rate they were currently going, they’d get a bonus at the end of the run for being under budget.

She’d pretend to a dry disapproval of his mercenary tendencies, and his face would soften into her favorite sweet smile, and his brogue would thicken, as he promised to spend every extra credit on her.

To which she’d argue that they should spend it on him, and back and forth they’d go, each suggestion more extravagant than the last, until they’d finished their work for the day, and could fall back into their bunk, together, conceding defeat and claiming victory in the touch of lips, and taste of skin, and the warmth of bodies resting together.

He’d lost as much as she, had found it again in her, as she had in him, and she had never believed in second chances, before.

She’d never been so grateful to be wrong. 


	13. Faire and fairest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [threefeettotheleft](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/93697249408) prompted: "I'd take meeting at a festival AU, for either Sebastian/Adelaide, or Fenris/Isabela?"
> 
> So of course I went with a Ren Faire. And both of them. (Fenabela's totally canon in the _Sweetest of All Sounds_ -verse, even if I never write about them. Just saying.)

Fenris did not know what he was doing here. People running around in stupid clothes, and stupider fake accents, throwing  _thee’s_ and  _thou’s_  around as if they knew what they meant.

Even with the stupid shirt and all its laces at neck and sleeve hiding most of the old tattoos, he didn’t  _blend,_  and he never had liked getting stared at.

At least getting stared at at some stupid Faire outside of town was a new sort of attention?

Sebastian had promised to help with the archery competition for the ‘Tourney’ and the informational little lessons they did for the ‘guests’ and then his usual partner was sick and he needed an extra pair of hands … and it was hot and this was stupid, but Sebastian had shown up for him at the last minute any number of times, so he hadn’t even waited for Sebastian to finish asking before he’d promised to help.

Never again, though, if he had anything to say about it. Making sure stupid teenagers (and occasionally even stupider adults) didn’t somehow stab themselves with blunted arrows, or snap each other with bowstrings, was more exhausting than he’d ever imagined.

He had no idea how Sebastian was still  _smiling,_ the bastard.

But they were finally done, and packing up, and Sebastian had promised him dinner at the pub that was part of the grounds, and maybe he had survived worse, at that. _  
_

And then Sebastian almost walked into a tree.

And he did drop half his gear in the process.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, let me help!" The woman he’d almost tripped all over apologized, as if it was her fault, and Sebastian was still just standing there, looking as if he actually had banged his head on the tree for a moment.

Her voice trailed off, and she shifted her weight back on her heels, and Sebastian finally shook his head, and apologized right back, half-stuttering, hands waving as he spoke, and Fenris hadn’t  _ever_  seen him so awkward, even when that terrifying quartet of high school girls had descended on him that afternoon.

He wasn’t quite sure  _why_ , though, she seemed like a perfectly normal woman, a guest in regular street clothes, perhaps a little short. And blushing?

Fenris felt his eyebrows lift as the woman and Sebastian proceeded to attempt to out apologize each other for everything from the initial stumble to the weather, and had a terrible feeling he’d fallen into some sort of cheap-romantic movie.

As the side-kick, clearly.

And his dinner was going to be delayed, because Sebastian was nothing if not excessively polite when he was flustered.

He snorted.

He heard a smothered chuckle, and turned to see another woman standing to the side, watching them fumble at each other.

She smiled as she caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but smile back, it was that sort of expression. 

Besides, she was wearing a corset from one of the vendors over a tank top and shorts, and it ought to have looked ridiculous, but it really  _really_ didn’t.

"If your friend’s anything like mine, they’ll be at that for awhile. I hope you’re not in a hurry?"

Fenris’ stomach chose that moment to grumble audibly, and she let out a low laugh; it was quite the nicest, warmest sound he thought he’d ever heard. “Oh dear, I’d apologize, but I’m enjoying watching Hawke lose her composure too much to be convincing.”

"It’s alright, I’ll survive." Fenris felt his smile curve up a bit higher on one side. "Besides, Sebastian will feel so badly about keeping us all waiting he’ll insist on buying a very nice dinner."

"Oh, he sounds like an  _excellent_  person for Hawke to lose her composure over, then.” She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I do like when other people buy me dinner.”

"I’ll have to remember that." Fenris heard himself answer, before he’d really considered the matter at all.

"Yes, indeed you will." Her smile turned into something almost  _slinky,_  there was no real other way to put it. “Isabela, by the way.”

"Fenris." He nodded his head, and when she shook his hand he decided perhaps he might have to owe Sebastian for this favor, rather than the other way ‘round.


	14. introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [crisium](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/93698721368#notes) requested "exes meeting again after not speaking for years au" from the meme, and of course that fit so well with the _Persuasion_ /Dragon Age fic I keep toying with, so that's the context for this one. 
> 
> (Adelaide is Wentworth, for those just now meeting this particular consideration of mine. Which makes Sebastian into Anne, yes.)

She was wearing Warden blue, the uniform smooth over her shoulders and skimming close over her hips, and he couldn’t  _breathe,_  and his brother was introducing them as if he’d never heard her name before in his life, and he found he suddenly  _hated_  his brother, more than ever he’d bothered to feel about him before.

"Messere, Sebastian, was it?" There was only the barest pause before his name, not even a breath, so close he was sure no one else would have ever noticed, and then she nodded her greeting, and her eyes met his, and they were cool, so cool, he’d never thought such a deep brown could be cold before, and her face was still, and how that mask of hers hurt, fresh and sharp, watching her hide from him, even though it was his fault, all his fault, that it was there. "A pleasure, I’m sure."

He managed half a bow, taking strength in the still lines of the carpet, that didn’t care who he was or who she was or who they’d almost been, together, all those years ago. “An honor, Messere Hawke.”

She managed something that he was sure his brother would believe was a smile,  _because my brother never notices anything he doesn’t want to,_  and then she was gone, following his in-laws on a tour of the grounds.

_Always an honor, Adelaide._


	15. running from or running to?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runaway Royalty AU for [bianca](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/100083670333%22)

It was a stupid place to run to. First place anyone would look for her, but it was raining and she was too angry to think straight, and she needed the roof and the warmth and the calm more than, perhaps, she needed to actually get away.

Of course, being calm wouldn’t help her at all if she got dragged back home; Mother and Father would be certain to see to that. As soon as they started talking, she’d be angry again. Which would annoy Mother, and Mother never listened when she was annoyed, and she’d be forsaken if they had the exact same argument for a dozenth time.

 _Eleven was_ just _enough._

She snorted softly.

"Excuse me?"

She almost shrieked, and then almost dropped her wet cloak on the toes of the poor Brother who’d just attempted to greet her, and then did manage to hug it too close and feel the front of her dress become unpleasantly damp at the contact.

He blinked, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of a smile before he coughed. “My apologies, Messere, I didn’t mean to startle you. May I help you with something?”

"A little bit of a chance to dry out?" She shifted her cloak to the side, more carefully this time, and smiled as brightly as she could manage.

He blinked again, more obviously this time, and she felt a chill down her back, even colder than the drip of water finding its way under her collar, at the thought that he’d recognized her, was going to say something, was going to tell someone, would make her  _leave._

But instead he smiled again, just a little, but properly this time, soft and warm, and it made the lines by his eyes deepen and her own smile eased into something more honest than she had felt cross her face in what seemed like years.

"Of course." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is less of a complete scene than I usually write for the AU prompts, and I do actually have some idea what happens next, with the Viscount's Guards trying to hunt down the wayward heir, and the impulsive Brother hiding Hawke and sending them away, and then the both of them not quite sure what they're going to do next, because how is Hawke going to explain that she's running away rather than letting her parents prop her up as the next in line when she's hiding _magic_ and on and on ...
> 
> so basically they smile at each other and refuse to think about the future, just like always.


	16. first sight, delayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hair/Makeup Stylist and Actor/Model!AU](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/110548654043)

He bends his head, adjusting the connections on the airbrush.

Well.

Pretends to adjust the connections, the connections are all _fine,_  of course they are, he takes excellent care of his tools.

He stretches his hand, closes it into a fist and shakes it loose again.

He’s been fans of many of the people who’ve sat in his chair to get ready for an interview before, of course, and sometimes he was a little nervous, and sometimes they were a lot nervous, despite whatever they’d done to get a spot on the show, but this time …

He’d used to go to her shows, back when she did small clubs and college parties, and it had always felt like she saw _him_  in the audience, like she sang for him, to him … he’d never quite had the nerve to find her after a show, never wanted to disturb the illusion of some sort of connection, never wanted to lose the ache in his chest whenever he heard her sing.

"Excuse me?"

He lets his eyes close, perhaps a breath too long, and turns, feeling his usual professional smile slip, just a little, at the sight of her, really her, just a few steps away, hair loose down to her shoulders, eyes dark, her face a little pale in reaction to the hour.

He never has met a musician who willingly admits to the existence of _mornings_  out in the real world.

"Oh." Her eyes widen, and she takes half a step, a hand lifting, then dropping, and the ache in his chest twists into something he doesn’t recognize, though there’s a sharp flare of something he might consider hope at the root of it. "I missed you, at the last show."

"You were opening at the Arena," he’s taking a step closer himself, "there’s no way you would have seen one person."

"But you weren’t there, were you?" Her voice is whisper soft, her chin lifting to look him in the eyes.

He swallows, shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t.”

"Don’t miss another one."

"Never."

Something in her face eases, a half a smile curving her mouth, and a hint of a flush across her cheeks, as if she suddenly realizes how close they’re standing, or how surreal their conversation was.

Or both.

He wants to kiss the beauty mark beneath her eye, the one above her mouth, her lips, her neck.

He swallows again, makes himself step back, and gestures towards the chair.

They both have work to do.

"Shall we?"

She nods, ducks her head a bit as she walks past him, almost shy.

His fingers tremble, as he smooths one strand of hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, and sighs, and his hand relaxes. “Perhaps after, I can take you to a nice lunch, away from the studio?”

Her eyes open, and she smiles, wide and bright and that twist of hope and joy turns hot and burns his throat and he’s glad, so glad, when she nods.


	17. Immortal ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dearest crisium, I will love you forever for this prompt: [God and Counterpart From Another Pantheon!AU](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/110560799203)

When you got old enough, it was hard to remember just what you’d been, before. You could feel it, sometimes, warmth down your spine or a shot of lust or creativity or energy, when someone new found one of your old stories, old altars, and appreciated, for a moment, what you used to be.

But it wasn’t the same as worship, and you weren’t a god.

Not anymore.

But you weren’t quite human, either, for all you almost all looked it, and it wasn’t just the age, the weight of experiences forgotten.

You could tell, when you met another old one, wandering about, the same spark of immortality, no matter how dim.

You usually got drunk together, compared rites and rituals and memories of feasts and wars and tribute.

No one else understood, after all, not even all the other things that weren’t human, hiding in shadows or stories or sometimes, right in plain sight, smiling at the fools around them.

"I was a prickly pear for awhile," she says, leaning sideways on her stool, human eyes gone wide and glassy with drink. "That was dull."

"I got stuck in a silver hand for a bit," he tilts his glass, tapping the edge of hers in agreement, just barely lifting it again before it spills. "Much better having a body."

She smiles, and he feels it, feels more than he’s felt in a while, truth be known, he’d been drifting on ships a lot, of late, caught in dreams of what it had been like to be the water, and the storm. 

She sways back, closer to him, and he recognizes the shift of her hips, the memory of current and tide and wave and behind her eyes, and wonders how he never met her before, fellow child of water, fellow protector and guardian.

"Shall we go see how well ours fit together, then?" Her voice is low, and rich, better than the rumble of thunder that used to underscore his powers, and then _she blushes,_  her hand reaching up to cover her mouth, and he laughs, at a goddess who is human enough to feel, to care, to say something without meaning to, without knowing what might happen next.

"Please," he whispers, and his human heart beats hard inside him, and he realizes he feels as well, and while once he would have thought it a weakness, as her hand reaches out to his, and their fingers brush together, he thinks this may be better than any of his old memories, worn smooth and pale with time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [continues here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/892548/chapters/22366520)


	18. first sight, first sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rock band AU for [breadedsinner](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/71683711450) because we get tired of Sebastian being neglected _at best_

"Oh fuck,  _Isabela._ "

"You peeked, didn't you."  Isabela sighed as Hawke stumbled rather dramatically through the cubby-hole that counted as break-room/backstage/green-room ... _at least this one has a sofa_.  "You know you can't look at the crowd before you're on stage."

"I  _knooow._ "  Hawke collapsed on said sofa and slammed her head back against the wall.  Isabela tried not to laugh as a strip of wallpaper slithered loose, danging down across her shoulder, catching a bit on a few loose strands of hair.  Hawke ignored it completely, too busy whining.  "But it's a little too late for that _now_."

Isabela settled herself next to Hawke, gracefully enough to avoid further wallpaper based attacks.  "Well, you could imagine them all in their underwear?"

"Shut up, last time I tried your 'picture them naked' trick I turned bright red and hit the wrong note when I opened my  mouth to sing, and you all had to loop back through the intro so we could start over."

"Thus the underwear this time?"  Isabela draped herself over Hawke's shoulders and gave a squeeze, trying to be sympathetic, at least a little.

Hawke just snorted, and Isabela let the laugh she'd been attempting to swallow go free.

Hawke leaned against Isabela's shoulder and sighed.  "Whatever would I do without you, Bela?"

"Crash and burn, of course."  Isabela squeezed Hawke's shoulders again before standing up and stretching, a long curve of back and arms to start loosening up for the show.  "Beyond the fact that you forget what you're doing when performing on a guitar and tend to start trying out new songs instead of finishing the one you started, it's rather hard to sing both parts at once."

"Aveline could ..." Hawke trailed off even before Aveline finished her audible grunt of disagreement, or Isabela's eyebrow had lifted all the way up.  "Yeah, you're right, I'd be screwed."

"And not in the fun way?"

"And not in the fun way."  Hawke finally smiled, and Isabela winked, and there, there was that laugh that lit up her face, the look that would make most of the audience half in love with her, at least until the last song was done and the lights faded.

"Find one person."

Isabela and Hawke both turned, staring at Fenris, who usually couldn't be enticed to say  _anything_ the last hour before a show, caught up in whatever preparation it was he did in his head.  

"Huh?"  Hawke managed.  So eloquent, their fearless leader.  Isabela sometimes wondered how they'd ever gotten a gig to begin with.

_Oh, right, that was all Varric._

"Go look again."  Fenris shrugged, fingers rubbing just a bit against his jeans, the slightest shift in his feet suggesting he was very subtly fidgeting all the way down to his toes.  "Pick one person, just one, who seems ... " There he trailed off, another shrug, apparently having run out of the right words.

"Nice?" Aveline suggested.

Hawke tilted her head, as if considering.

"Either gorgeous or Not Wasted?" Isabela grinned as Hawke rolled her eyes.  "We are the last act on a Saturday night in a college town.  Can't be too picky."

Fenris' lips quirked.  "She has a point."

"I shall attempt someone slightly more interesting than just  _not wasted,_ thank you very much."

Fenris almost smiled, then nodded, something approaching agreement.  "Then find them again, when we get on stage, so there's just one face you have to worry about."

"Huh."  Aveline's blink was almost as audible as her grunt had been.  "That's not half bad, actually."

"Not half bad!"  Isabela shuddered, letting her whole body emphasize the movement before she stalked over to poke Fenris in the shoulder.  "It's bloody brilliant, it is, so why didn't you mention it to our poor stage-fright-stricken-Hawke  _last time_ she peeked out at the house?"

"Too busy being stage frightened himself, probably."  Hawke's head tilted the other way this time, suddenly distracted by her own sentence.   "Stage-fraught?"

"And this is why you write the music, not the lyrics."  Isabela rolled her eyes and grabbed Hawke's hands, dragging her to her feet.  "Go follow broody's advice.  Take a look, and then come back so we can warm up."

"Yes ma'am."  Hawke's nervous energy suddenly settled, her body still for just a breath, before she leaned close enough to give Isabela a soft kiss on the cheek.  "Be right back."

They all three watched her leave, and the silence grew after the door closed behind her, one breath, two, finally broken by Aveline's low chuckle.

"And that's why we put up with stage fraught."

* * *

_Oh hell, Isabela's right, they're all wasted._

Well, not quite all.  

The staff, of course, still slogging along, making drinks and cleaning up after idiot customers or looming in corners discouraging the stupid, but they'd be working while she was playing, so that was clearly a terrible idea.

And not the right sort of terrible to be fun.

There was actually someone face planted in a text book in a booth in the corner, apparently fast asleep despite the noise.

That took talent.

And sitting next to them ...

_Ahhh._

He was the one.  Clothes and hair still relatively neat, what looked like a regular soda on the table in front of him, a hint of a smile as he sighed down at his sleeping friend, the occasional shift as he glanced around the club, pausing at about the same point along the bar each time.

Desi, the poor man, and actually doing a proper job of it, keeping an eye on his friends  _while_ they were drunk, rather than just stopping them from driving afterwards.

Such a pretty one too, the lights from the dance floor shifting across a rather improbable line of cheekbone and nose, reflecting in wide eyes, though the varied hues made it impossible to tell what color they were.

Nice.  Check.

Not wasted.  Check.

_AND gorgeous.  No settling for one or the other._

And something about that hint of a smile ... 

Oh yeah. He was interesting.  

Hawke grinned to herself, and slid back behind the staff door.  She was going to _kick ass_ tonight.

* * *

He owed Donnic a beer.

Or a couple cases even.

Or possibly his first born child if he ever had any.

The last band had been  _alright,_ if nothing special, and he'd mostly just amused himself people watching once poor Brennan lost track of what she was saying mid-sentence and started snoring, but now ...

The final act had set up quickly, and there'd been an actual lull in the general background pandemonium, a hum of anticipation, and he'd a moment to wonder if the apparent local favorite was actually something special or just, well, local,  _that tended to inspire loyalty after all,_ and then the lights moved, and their singer stared right at him, a hint of a smile as she caught his eyes, _damn she's gorgeous,_ and he felt the impact in his chest when their drummer hit the first beat, and he forgot how to breathe when she started to sing.

She sang their whole first song right to him, and he couldn't remember  a single word when her eyes dropped after the last note faded, but he was pretty sure he'd hear the echo of the melody in his dreams for a week.

And possibly he'd just fallen in love.

"Donnic's dating the bass player."

Sebastian blinked.  Blinked again, and finally turned to look at Brennan, who had woken up at some point and was grinning at him, blearily and wobbly, blond hair sticking in all directions, her voice oh so very amused.  "He can probably introduce you."

Sebastian felt his mouth open, but he wasn't sure what he'd been about to say.  It's not like either of them would believe a denial.

He hadn't even noticed the bass player 'til Brennan mentioned her, but he'd definitely heard Donnic stuttering and failing to say much about the lady he'd met a few weeks ago.  It had been oddly adorable, for such a normally stoic fellow.

"Would right now be too soon to ask?"

Brennan covered her mouth as she half coughed and half laughed, and shook her head as she shifted a bit across the bench.  "Probably wait 'til their set's done, don't you think?"

Sebastian smiled his agreement, and leaned back against the back of the booth, settling in to watch the band, and the way the lead singer  _moved,_ and the way her hair absorbed the lights, and let the sound of them wash over him as he waited.

Definitely something special.


	19. Ice Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Assuming the Chantry blast broke more than buildings ..._

They had reclaimed Starkhaven easily, riding high on the Champion’s reputation and the fear of the violence in Kirkwall spreading throughout the Free Marches.  The return of the prodigal son, resplendent in armor gifted by the previous Prince, the words of the Maker himself on his lips…

His people were grateful to see him again.

The commoners, at least.  

The nobles, of course, were unsure of what he would do to those who had served his usurper of a cousin, were unsure of their place, and their power, but determined to keep it clutched tight in their soft greedy hands.

They watched, they flattered, they schemed.

More than one made not-so-gentle jokes about his past _, who needs vows with a woman like that at your side?_

The old Sebastian would have hated it.  The one she’d known for six years, with the laugh lines around his eyes and his gentle blushes.  The one she’d fallen in love with.

She hadn’t seen that Sebastian since the Chantry exploded.  That one desperate scream, the one aching plea for vengeance, and then nothing else.  Calm had descended.  More than calm.  His control was terrifying.   _Wrong._  

Even as he asked her to marry him, even as he promised he loved her, even as he offered her sanctuary and protection and a new life in Starkhaven, his weight never shifted,  _no nerves, no worries_ , and his fingers never warmed as they clasped her hand.

But how could she say no?

She’d tried, oh how she’d tried, to be there for him, to draw him out, to let him relax, to help him grieve.

But he refused to feel a thing.  So kind to her, but always distant.

Each day it was harder to smile.

It should be easy to smile on one’s wedding day, finally marrying her handsome Prince.

His attention never wavered throughout the ceremony.

His lips were soft when they finished their vows.

He stayed by her side throughout the banquet, his hand frequently coming to rest against her arm, or the small of her back.

She saw more than one young lady sigh prettily, admiring the romance of the day, stealing glances at the new royal couple over fans or around gloved hands.

But none of them could see his eyes.

Ice blue.

He carried her to her bed, that night, and she thought maybe, finally, she’d reach him.   Her hands were trembling when she placed them on his cheeks, leaned in to kiss him, her husband, her love.

His mouth was warm, his hands gentle.  He was talented, and thorough, removing their clothes and caressing her skin, every touch and taste exquisite.

And torturous.  

Even when he filled her, hot and hard, even when she called his name as she came apart beneath him, once, twice, even when he found release and spilled himself deep inside her, her heart beat alone.  She craved his love, his heart and soul, and all he gave her was his body.

He tucked her gently beneath her blankets, smoothed her hair back, and kissed her softly on her forehead.  ”Goodnight, my Princess.”

And then he left, returning to his own bed, in his own rooms, leaving her alone.

Royalty frequently had separate quarters.  She’d never once thought they’d use them.

Hot tears soaked her pillow, and all she could hope was that she would find a way to crack that ice behind his eyes before it spread to her heart, and she no longer cared enough to try.


	20. first and last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phdfan's prompt from the Dragon Age Kiss Battle

She never thought she'd ever get to kiss him. First a Brother, then a Prince, and for all her mother told her she was an Amell, and the equal of anyone in Kirkwall, she knew she was really just a farm-girl, a tavern-rat, more comfortable with bandits and mercs than nobles.

Even as Champion, the recognition scratched rather than soothed, an itch between her shoulder blades where she couldn't reach. Too much, too soon, too fragile. It wasn't real, not in any way that mattered.

He didn't seem to care about all the things she knew, however, one warm summer night outside the Chantry, a whisper of how he wished they'd met in better times, so they were both free to act on their desires. And perhaps, some day, after the storm they could both feel brewing finally broke, they'd have another chance?

It was more hope than she'd ever allowed herself before, a murmured agreement in the dark, the warmth of his hand against her skin, the brush of his lips against her mouth.

Of course, the storm broke more than buildings, destroyed more than lives, darkness and rage in his eyes as he left, betrayal too painful to forgive. She never saw him again, though she never forgot that one sweet moment of possibility, treasured that ache of hope in her heart, no matter how painfully it had shattered.


	21. ... beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [a continuation of _Immortal_ (chapter 17)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/892548/chapters/7327247) for [ladyarrowhead](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/157550805428)

You wake, and she’s there, still there, hair tangled and skin warm, and you can feel her, feel yourself lean closer, a pull like the moon when you were the tides, inexorable and endless. She opens her mouth to your kiss, her legs to your body, and she takes you in, deep and hot, and you ride the lift of her hips, follow the rhythm of her heart, her breath, grip her hands to feel the whole of her body curve beneath you, taste the salt on her skin, salt like the sea that birthed you both, the sea you used to rule, used to ride, the sea that is older and more powerful even than you, than her, but not this, not this connection between you, not this heat, this need, the shape of her body gripping yours, the steady lift and fall of her breasts, your hips, the sound she makes as you push deeper, the way her cheeks flush and your chest aches and the tension builds, the pleasure builds, heavier and sweeter than anything you can remember, and you remember almost as much as you’ve forgotten, but still, but still, you’d abandon every ritual, every devotee, every bit of your history if it meant you’d have a future, if you could worship her instead, again, forever.  


_Stay with me,_ your heart beats, and your eyes burn, and your mostly human body will not last much longer, not for this, no matter how much you seek eternity in her body, infinity in her eyes.

_Yes,_ she answers you in the curl of her fingers, the grip of her thighs, in the echo of her heart beat, matching yours, beat for beat and ache for ache.

Her body will not last, you can hear the change in her breath, feel the shift beneath her skin, almost a tremble, almost a jolt, and then she crests, a final cry, a final heat, a final clench, and she pulls you with her, as she’d pulled you to her, and it is even better than the night before, better than immortality, than being the storm, or the arrow, or the final wave that capsized the boat, to lose yourself in her, to find yourself in her arms.

To realize that her last cry had been words, _I love you,_ and to repeat them against her skin, _I love you,_ as you refuse to pull away, as you stay wrapped together, here, at last, in the twilight of your kind, _home._


	22. weighted shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from a fic meme prompt on tumblr. [nightquill](http://nightquill.tumblr.com) asked "Defend: Carver and someone of your choice" ... what if Adelaide's Carver had become a Templar?

"Of course it’s wrong, there are thing there that you could never im —" Carver’s voice stuttered to a stop, hands clenched and shoulders stiff as his gaze dropped, eyes flickering to the side with something that was almost shame hiding behind the anger.  "But there’s something  _wrong_  here, can’t you feel it?"

"Oh, so, Kirkwall’s crazy enough it doesn’t matter that Meredith is helping it along?"  Hawke was trying so very hard not to yell, not to throw something at the young Templar who used to be a brother.

"Of course it matters."  Carver’s shoulders slumped, the tension fleeing in the wake of his obvious exhaustion.  "But what would you have her do?  Her nightmares of blood magic around every corner are mostly true, after all."

Hawke didn’t have an answer for that, memories of bandits and slavers and always, always, one dark man beneath the streets who’d smelled of blood and lillies, who’d had correspondence from all over Kirkwall, including the Gallows, even if not a single piece of paper had had a name she or Varric could trace.

The silence stretched, taut and dark and brittle, until finally Carver sighed, and pushed himself away from the table.  "I have to go.  Have to get back, have to try…" His voice trailed off again.  "Promise me something?"

Hawke nodded, slowly, cautiously.  Considered the possibility of crossed fingers, but dismissed it and tried to listen instead.

"If it looks like it’s over, like they’re going to," Carver swallowed.  "Don’t let us take you to the Gallows.  I don’t think I could."  He shrugged.  "Just, don’t, alright?"

There was something he wasn’t saying.  A lot of somethings.  But it had been so long since they had really stood side by side, she no longer knew how to ask.  "Alright."

Carver’s eyes closed, relief and regret and he suddenly looked  _old,_  and worn, and Adelaide wondered at how long even a giant of a younger brother could bear to hold such weight as Templar plate in Kirkwall.  

But then Carver turned and left, heavy steps and the slightest whispering echo of metal shifting, and Hawke still didn’t know what questions she should have asked.


End file.
